The Starvation Games
by ElementalCat
Summary: In the Hunger Games, Gale gets chosen at the Reaping instead of Peeta, and Gale and Katniss go to the arena together.
1. Reaping Day

**Author's Note:** _This is my first story, so try not to judge too harshly_. _I always wondered what would have happened in the Hunger Games if Gale was chosen in the Reaping. I'm not sure where this story will go in later chapters, but it's going to start the same way as the books._

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course she did. Today is the day of the Reaping.

I get up and see Prim snuggled up beside my mother, shivering underneath the thin cotton sheet, the only thing that protects them from the crisp dawn air blowing through the gap in the window. I walk to the door on the other side of our house, if you can call it that. It's more like a shack. All of the houses in the slums of District Twelve are.

I grab my father's worn leather hunting jacket from it's hook by the door. I have enough time to go hunting before the Reaping starts at two.

I jog through the slums until I get to the "electric" fence. The fence is supposed to be powered with 1000 volts of electricity 24/7, but the power is sporadic, and the fence is only occasionally electrified. Still, I check for the telltale buzz of power before I slide between the wires and out into the Glade.

The Glade is the meadow that separates the fence and the forest. At this time of year, the dandelions are almost all dead, and the grass is brown with drought. But it's not like that in the forest.


	2. Gale

In the forest, everything is green. Everything but the sky, which is a blue so beautiful that you can just stare at it for hours, and never get bored. But I didn't have hours to stare at the sky today. Not if we wanted to have dinner today.

I grabbed my bow and quiver from the dead log where they were hidden and slung them over my back. My feet barely made a sound on the ground as I stalked through the woods, searching for prey.

After about an hour of fruitless searching, I found it. A deer! It was a full-grown male, the kind I only found about twice a year. As I marvelled at the amount of meat I would get from it, it lifted its head and sniffed the air. It sprinted away.

Stupid, I told myself as I raced after it. I forgot to check the wind! I followed the deer until it stopped in a clearing and started to graze again. I crept carefully around the edge of the trees, trying not to make any noise, but also trying to move fast in case the deer decided to taste the air again. I got to the other side of the clearing and carefully drew my bow string back and aimed at the deer's heart. I breathed in, then out. Slowly.

Suddenly, I heard a stick snap behind me. The deer looked up, startled, saw my arrow pointed at him, and bounded away. I was too busy swinging around to point my bow at the culprit to follow it.

"Gale! That was the first deer I've seen in a year!"

"And what would you have done with it when you had killed it?" he shot back, grinning.

"Sold it at the market. Ate it for our Reaping Day feast."

His smile fades. He doesn't like Reaping Day any more than I, or any of the other people in District Twelve, do.

"Come on," he says, beckoning me. "I have something to show you."

He leads me to the top of the hill, where you can see the trees marching off into the distance. He rummages in his satchel for a moment, then takes out fresh bread, a rarity in District Twelve.

"Oh my God! Is this real?" I exclaim, ripping the loaf in half, handing one half to him, and burying my nose in the other. It smells of all of my fondest memories.

"Better be, it cost me a squirrel," Gale says, ripping off a piece of his half and stuffing it in his mouth. I bite off a chunk of mine and chew it slowly, thinking.

"Happy Hunger Games," Gale says, still chewing his bread.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," I say in the ridiculous Capitol accent that we hear every year. We lapse into a comfortable silence after that, savoring the bread and wondering which of our friends will be chosen to die this year.


	3. Black Sheep

As we walked back into town with a turkey that I had caught on the way back and a belly full of bread, I thought of Prim. I wondered how she was feeling. Nervous? Probably. I wanted her first reaping to go as well as possible.

When we stopped at the Hob, the black market where most of the people of District Twelve shop, I stopped at Greasy Sae's stall. We might have gotten a better deal elsewhere, but she was one of the only people we knew who would consistently buy wild dog, so we made an effort to stay on her good side.

I saw a glint of gold in the corner of my eye after I finished trading. "What's that?" I picked it up. It was a circular pin, with some sort of bird, in flight, attached to the ring by only its wing tips. It seemed like the perfect gift for Prim. "That's a Mockingjay," Sae responded. "How much?" I asked, handing it to her.

Sae hesitated. "You take it." I smiled. "Really?" "Yes. It's yours." She pressed it into my hand. I tucked it into the pocket of my father's leather jacket. "Thank you." Sae nodded, smiling.

I traded my turkey for a ball of yarn, while Gale went to trade the rabbits he had snared for some sugar. We met up at the back entrance of the Hob, where it connected to the main path. We said goodbye and headed our seperate ways.

As I walked back to my house, I passed the miners, heading to the coal mines to begin their day's work. In a few years, I thought, Gale would be among them, getting up early in the morning, leaving before his family even woke up, and making the long trek to the mines. He would come back, sweaty and tired, with coal all over his face and arms. That's the thing about District 12. After you live here for a while, it infects you, contaminates you, so no matter where you go, the coal stays with you. It marks you, separates you from the people from the other districts, so someone can pick you out in a crowd like a black sheep in a flock of white sheep, its hair stained with coal.


	4. Preparation

When I got back to my house, Prim was standing in the middle of the room, her hair neatly brushed, her clothes soft and clean. She was wearing a light blue skirt and a white blouse. The blouse had come untucked at the back.

"Better tuck that tail in, little duck." She put her hands behind her back and tucked in the back of her blouse.

My mother stood behind her, wearing her best clothes. I was surprised that she had gotten Prim all ready for the Reaping. I had specifically planned to get back from the Hob early so I could pick out an outfit for her and brush her hair.

"I put something out for you, too," my mother said. I glanced over at the bed and saw a light blue dress, one of her favorites. I hesitated a bit. "Thanks." I had never really forgiven her for tuning out when my father died.

I took a bath, then put the dress on. It felt silky and clean against my skin, so different from the coarse, rough clothes that were my daily wear. Prim is sitting behind me.

"I wish I looked like you," she said.

"Oh, no, I wish I looked like you, little duck!" I swept over to her. She smiled slightly. "Listen, I got you something at the Hob today." She looked up, the grin still lingering on her face. I walked over to my hunting jacket and took the mockingjay pin out of its pocket, making sure to hide it in my hand until I got back to Prim.

I crouched in front of her, then opened my hand. The gold glinted in the light from the window, making tiny reflections on her face. Her smile got wider.

"You got this for me?" She asked, gently taking the pin and turning it over. "Yes. It will bring you luck today. Want me to put it on you?" She nodded and handed me back the pin. I fastened it on her blouse, right about her heart.

"There. Now nothing bad can happen to you." Prim smiled, but it was faint and half-hearted. I knew she was nervous. It was her first Reaping, after all.


	5. The Reaping

We followed the flood of people towards the District Square. I could feel her breath hitching in her chest, and her hand in mine, slick with sweat.

As we came in view of the indentifiers, she stopped short. Of course. I had forgotten. The identifiers took a blood sample from each child, every year, before the reaping. I said gently to Prim, "They're just going to prick your finger." Her breath got faster, and her eyes were wild, like a caged animal. "It doesn't hurt. Not much. Only a little bit." She slowly started moving again.

Soon enough, we reached the front of the line. "Next," the identifier said, beconing to my sister. She hestitated, the wild look back in her eyes. "Next," the identifier said again, an edge of impatient in her voice. Prim stepped forward and held her shaking hand out. "Bzzzt." The needle was in and out of her finger in less than a second. Her face was pale, her eyes staring into the distance.

"Next," I heard the identifier say again. I stepped forward, my mind and eyes on Prim until I lost her in the crowd. I flinched as I felt the sharp, quick pain of the needle.

I walked past the areas for the twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen year olds. I tried to find my sister, but she was short for her age, and lost in the crowd. All of the people who were under and over-age lined the outside of the square. I saw my mother, staring into the twelve year old section, obviously trying to find Prim like I had.

I took my spot in the sixteen year old section. I could see Gale, two sections ahead of me, and on the opposite side of the square. He was looking at me, and waved when I made eye contact. Then, I heard the familiar boom of Effie Trinket, the District 12 tribute representative, tapping the microphone to start the ceremony of the Reaping.


	6. The Author's Note (Update)

Hey Readers-

I'm currently working on Chapter 6, which will be the longest yet. Thank you, Radio Free Death, for the review. I am pointing out that the first paragraph of my story was, in fact, copied straight from the book "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins. All credit to her for that paragraph and the storyline up until this point. Sorry for the short chapters, I am still a beginning writer. Until next time, readers. ElementalCat out.


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